


Warfare By Words

by mydogwatson



Series: Postcard Tales II [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is at war with the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warfare By Words

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, very late posting this. Blame visiting friends, a Mexican dinner, and maybe a margarita. Or two. So here's hoping this gets up as it should…
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft Holmes,

You are a very bad big brother. Mummy says that you wanted to go off to school and stay there. She says it will be good for you. IT WILL NOT BE GOOD FOR ME.

Now I have no First Mate.

And no one to fetch me biscuits when Daddy puts them on the high shelf.

I will have to finish reading Treasure Island by myself.

I hope that no one at school will play pirates with you.

You are mean.

Your unhappy brother,  
Sherlock Holmes

P.S. Mummy says I may have a dog. He will be my new First Mate. And I might teach him to bite you when you come home. If you ever do.

*

Dear Mummy,

This place is really quite horrid, just as I suspected it would be. The teachers are all useless and the other boys are idiots. And rather mean. The housemaster keeps asking me why I cannot be as polite as my older brother and how can I expect to become a prefect like Mycroft unless I stiffen my upper lip and get along.

I told him that I had no desire to turn into another Mycroft Holmes as one of those was more than enough for the world. He was not amused.

You will be surprised to hear that I was sent to the headmaster for fighting, which is not the usual reason I am forced into his extremely tedious company. I did not actually fight, of course. One of the idiots tripped me and I fell, dropping all my books into a puddle. He just stood there laughing as I tried to collect them. You will undoubtedly say that I was rude, but I told him that his mother was having an affair with the gardener. He did not take the news well and in order to protect myself, I threw the mathematics text at his face. It is a very thick book and his nose did not tolerate the blow very well.

Still, I do not think that could really be called fighting, do you?

As a consequence, I am confined to my room unless I am in class or in the library. Which is rather a joke as punishment goes, because my room and the library are the only places I spend time in anyway. Other than the chem lab, of course, and that qualifies as class.

At any rate, if you and Daddy do not mind greatly, I would like to come home. Please.

Your VERY unhappy son,  
Sherlock H.

**

Dear Victor,

I do not suppose that you want to hear from me, but it is my belief that there is too much left unsaid between us. If you are expecting me to apologise for what happened, I fear you will be disappointed. You wanted me to investigate what you thought would be a minor domestic mystery and when it turned into something quite different, what was I to do? Leave off?

No one who knows me even a little bit would expect that of me. And I thought you knew me fairly well. You said we were friends.

If I were to be sorry for anything at all, it would be that what I discovered caused you such pain. Sadly, you seem to believe that it even led to the death of your father. Your words to me after that seemed to indicate that you thought I should feel some guilt. No doubt it will disappoint you even further when I say that I do not. 

Someone once said that the truth will out. I cannot regret being the agent of that.

If you are feeling uneasy about being confronted by my ‘sociopathic personality’ back in Cambridge, you needn’t be. I have decided to depart those dreaming spires [or is that Oxford? Doesn’t matter. Poetry.] and make for London, where I believe my future lies.

I suppose it is traditional to wish you well in these circumstances. Maybe I should have been a better friend. Or perhaps you should have. Never mind. The whole concept is flawed and best dismissed.

-SH

*

MH:

Fuck off.

-SH

*

Lestrade,

I see that you have managed to make an arrest in the case of the murdered ballet dancer. Finally. It was the tea-lady, of course, just as I told you on the night. What a surprise to discover that even high I am a better detective than anyone at Scotland Yard.

Speaking of that, what gave you the right to inform my brother of my private habits? I would have had more respect for you had you simply arrested me.

You are probably aware that he has forced me into an entirely unnecessary ‘rehab’ facility somewhere in darkest Norfolk. Thank you so much for that.

He has informed me that when I am ‘clean’ I will be welcome to advise on cases once again. Maybe I will, because otherwise the clearance rate for London will plummet. But I will never forget the betrayal I suffered at your hands.

By the way, the mechanic in Wimbledon was murdered by the busker who works the train station on Wednesday afternoons. You are very welcome.

Go to hell.

-Sherlock H.

*

John,

I suppose it would be the done thing for me to say I understand.  
Did you think that I was serious when I told you to go back to her? Wasn’t it obvious that I was only trying to protect you?

In case you are wondering, I actually rather hate her. But I suppose that is neither here nor there. 

No matter anyway. What is done is done. So I suppose I hope you are going to be happy. Although I think the chances of that are extraordinarily slim.

-SH

[DELETED]

*

Dear John,

Sometimes I feel as if the world and I have been at war for a very long time. My entire life, if I’m honest. And I am so tired of the battle.

Last night, when you proposed---to Sherlock Holmes!---I felt as if you were handing me not only your heart, but a treaty of peace as well. Not between you and me, that pact was forged long ago. This particular treaty is between Sherlock Holmes and the rest of the world. Or, perhaps even more importantly, I feel it has created an unexpected sense of peace within myself.

That is the gift you have given me, John Watson, and I can only hope that I will prove worthy of it.

This is horribly sentimental and I should warn you not to grow accustomed to such florid language. Sentiment is still not my strong suit. But you know that already, because you know me better than anyone ever has.

Enough. I will leave this on the pillow so you will see it when you wake up.

Meanwhile, since there is no tea on offer yet, I have a jar of eyeballs ready to…well, never mind, you probably don’t want to know about that.

Love,  
Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: Warfare By Words by Ivor Thomas


End file.
